


Fog in a Snowstorm

by ladyshadowdrake



Series: Bittersweet [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Humor, M/M, Misunderstandings, You didn't see that one coming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-14
Updated: 2014-12-14
Packaged: 2018-03-01 12:13:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2772587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyshadowdrake/pseuds/ladyshadowdrake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony had been dating Steve Rogers regularly for three months. The only problem was that he wasn’t entirely sure if Steve knew it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fog in a Snowstorm

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [风雪中的迷雾/Fog in a Snowstorm](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3319448) by [polarbonnie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/polarbonnie/pseuds/polarbonnie)



> Come visit me for updates, teasers, etc, at: http://lightshadowverisimilitude.tumblr.com/

**Fog in a Snowstorm**

“Sir.” Jarvis’ voice echoed in his welding helm, the music briefly lowering to normal volumes so he could be heard.

Tony pulled the electrode away from the metal and flipped his mask up. “Is someone dying?”

There was a distinct note of a sigh in Jarvis’ voice as he answered, “No, sir. Your-”

“Is the planet being invaded again?”

“No, sir.”

“Is it Reed? Did he fuck up again? Did you get it on camera? I like to save these things.”

“No, sir, Mr. Richards has not made any mistakes lately of which I am aware.”

Tony frowned. “Okay, so… why is my music down to retirement home levels right now?”

“Your reservations, sir.”

Tony was blank for only ten seconds, and then he dropped the mask and scrambled to put the welding equipment away. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Tony demanded in a rush, pulling his apron off and then promptly tripping over it as he tried to get his gloves off.

“I’ve been trying to interrupt you for the last fifteen minutes, sir.”

“You know you have to turn the music down to get my attention,” Tony remarked as he finally got out of the tangle of his welding gear. He left the workshop at a jog, pulling his shirt over his head as he went. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been in the shower – if he had reservations, it was Friday, and he was reasonably sure that he was in bed Thursday, which would have meant a shower that morning? He was already naked by the time he made it to his bathroom and Jarvis – God, he did such a _damn_ good job on his code – had the shower on the second he made it through the door.

“When you invite someone out to dinner,” Steve teased when Tony made it out of his room ten minutes late, hair still damp and shirt sticking to his skin, “You might want to make it on time.” He was stretched out comfortably on Tony’s living room sofa, ankle crossed over knee, one arm draped across the back of the couch. He looked good there in a dove gray jacket open over a tailored shirt in lavender. It took Tony months to get him to take off the tie and open his collar, but there he was, his shirt open just enough to show his collarbone.

“Yeah, well, better me being late than me showing up in my welding apron. Jarvis forgot to remind me we had reservations, didn’t you, Jarvis?”

“I only interrupted him three times, Captain Rogers,” Jarvis confessed dryly.

“For shame, Jarvis,” Steve returned in the same tone as he pushed himself off the couch. He reached for the button on his jacket automatically, but Tony gave him a _look_ over the rim of his tinted glasses and he stopped. His lips quirked into a smile and he ducked his head in acknowledgement as he diverted his hand to his pocket instead.

“Of course, sir,” Jarvis agreed.

“Hold down the fort, Jarvis. Don’t let Dum-E into the fridge while I’m gone.”

“Yes, sir.”

They were late to the restaurant, but he’d come to suspect that Jarvis either made the reservation fifteen minutes later than he told Tony, or Tony’s well known tendency to tip big held his reservations. It could also be because he might own the restaurant, but he couldn’t remember if it was on the last acquisition list or not.

“So what does SHIELD have you doing these days?” Tony asked over breadsticks, and he made an effort to actually listen to Steve’s answer even though he lost interest about five words in. He was good at asking all the right questions, and, given the right set of circumstances, he was very good at pretending to be listening, but it was rare for him to really want to be interested in something that was about as boring to him as paint chips.

Steve kept his answer to a few brief anecdotes that he wrapped up with, “And then she threw me right through the harem, where I had to battle a giant snake.”

“Did you at least keep the teeth?” Tony asked, just to show he was paying attention. “A snake that big probably wouldn’t have good skin for making boots, but you could have a _least_ kept the teeth.”

Steve laughed. “You were listening.”

“It happens sometimes,” Tony allowed, quirking a shoulder. The waitress came back to the table with the bottle of wine. She poured a small measure and Tony gestured it over to Steve when she offered it to him. Steve looked faintly surprised, and completely baffled about what he was supposed to do with the cork. He held it awkwardly in one hand, took the glass by the stem with the other, and tasted it like it might bite him.

“It’s good,” he said with a pleased smile. “Sweet.”

Not many people knew that Captain America had a sweet tooth on him, but Tony tucked those little tidbits away like a squirrel hoarding acorns. Pepper might have screamed that he had no place to keep anything about anyone else in his giant self-centered head (and really, it was _his head_ , so duh), and she might have actually been right once upon time, but Afghanistan impressed on Tony how important it was to notice things about people. He just wasn’t always very good about making use of the information. Pepper, rightfully, expected him to remember things like her birthday (July 23rd) and her favorite color (blue) and that she was allergic to strawberries. Tony did know all of that, and a thousand other little things, like she enjoyed walking around barefoot on hard floors but not on carpet, and every now and then she really liked it when Tony cuffed himself to the bed. _He_ didn’t like it at all, but he’d done it anyways, because sometimes she needed to be in control and he wanted her to have the things she needed.

Not that it mattered much in the end, but that was almost a year ago and Tony was over it on most days, and hey, he had Steve Rogers sitting across the table from him, blinking delightedly into a wine glass.

“You remember that alcohol doesn’t do anything for me, right?” Steve asked after the waitress left.

“You mean I have no chance of getting you drunk and convincing you to go streaking through Central Park? Well, that ruins all _my_ plans for the evening. I hope you have something else in mind, because I’m tapped out of ideas.”

Steve laughed and Tony enjoyed him doing it. He had a nice laugh when it was real – warm, and deep, with the force of a good diaphragm to give it body.

“I just thought you might enjoy the taste,” Tony admitted finally and Steve’s laughter calmed down to a fond smile.

“It’s nice. Thank you. You know Bucky and I never had real wine before the War? How strange, right? We broke into his dad’s liquor cabinet a few times when we were kids, but Mr. Barnes wasn’t a wine drinker and Mrs. Barnes never touched a drop of alcohol, though I’m fairly sure she was addicted to her cough syrup.” Steve’s eyes went soft the way they did on those infrequent occasions when he talked about his childhood, about his few friends, even the odd story about the War, always with the capital letter. He’d tried talking about Howard a few times, but even after Tony got over his _Captain America is a freaking dick_ phase and tried to listen, his expression must have given away exactly how much he was not interested in hearing how great his old man was in the old days, because Steve stopped. “My ma only bought the cheap stuff so what she did bring home wasn’t much better than vinegar. I suspect she bought the cheap stuff, in part, because there was no way Bucky and I would go near it. It wasn’t until France that we realized wine could actually taste good.” He tipped his glass to Tony in a silent salute, “But even that had nothing on this.”

“It’s a dessert wine,” Tony said instead of figuring out how to handle the compliment – it wasn’t like he actually _made_ the wine (though that was a thought. It couldn’t be _that_ hard). “Really not supposed to be served with dinner, and the staff are probably snickering over it like idiots, Tony Stark not even ordering the right wine with dinner, can you believe it?” Tony mocked an outraged expression and got another laugh for his efforts, “But the dry white they would tell you is supposed to go with the food would not have pleased your tongue.”

However Steve may have responded to that not-so-subtle come on was interrupted by the arrival of their appetizers. Over the cheese and meat plate, Steve asked what Tony was working on, and though Tony could tell he got lost about five words in, he made a concerted effort to pay attention.

~*~

Pleasantly buzzed, but nowhere near drunk, Tony had the driver drop them off a few blocks from the tower so they could walk. They stopped at a coffee truck on the way, obediently smiled for a picture when the college students behind them recognized them, signed autographs when their excitement called more attention, and dropped their money in the tip jar when the awed vendor refused to accept payment for the warm drink.

Tony was aware of his driver shadowing them along the street, but he pretended that they were alone as they took a slow stroll the remaining four blocks to his private entrance. Steve followed him into the garage because they were still talking at the time (and this was really not on purpose at all, not even a little bit, definitely not a ploy to make Steve follow him upstairs out of his stubborn politeness). He admired Tony’s cars like he usually did, shook his head a little at the sheer number of them like he usually did. He kept his hands in his jacket pockets like he was afraid he wasn’t going to be able to control the urge to put his fingerprints on them. With anyone else, Tony would have wholeheartedly approved. With Steve, Tony had to pinch himself to keep from saying, _so would you like to fuck on the hood of my Ferrari? The red one, red does good things for me._

“Want to come up?” Tony asked, jerking his head toward the elevator. Steve’s eyes flickered while he scanned through his schedule for the next day, a habit that Tony found unexpectedly adorable, and then nodded and smiled in easy agreement.

“Sure. I don’t have anything going on tomorrow until about noon.”

“I’ll try hard not to keep you up past your bed time,” Tony promised completely insincerely.

“What, you don’t want to hide under the covers and read comics with a flashlight until three?” Steve asked, and his poker face was getting better, because Tony almost believed it was an honest question. The truth was that Steve actually had a really fantastic poker face when he was ‘on the clock.’ He didn’t even have to be in uniform or facing down bad guys or anything, just being in Captain America mode turned him into one serious bad ass of the do-not-fuck-with variety. In a staring contest between Steve and Nick Fury, Tony’s money went on Steve every time. Well, unless Steve had actually messed up, because the guy was way too willing to take the blame even when it wasn’t his fault. If it was actually his fault, he would probably just combust with the guilt. But, anyways, poker face on the job, good. When he was out of Captain America mode though, he was a different person. He wore his heart right on his forehead, blushed easily, smiled just easy, and couldn’t lie to a cat without it instantly showing on his face.

“There are a lot of useful things we can do under the covers,” Tony invited conversationally as the elevator doors closed, “Flashlight optional.”

Steve went very still and didn’t respond, a sudden tension in his body making Tony want to curse. He’d been dating Steve Rogers regularly for three months. The only problem was that he wasn’t entirely sure if _Steve_ knew it. Tony didn’t think he’d ever gone on so many dates with the same person that ended in a companionable wave, not so much as kiss on the cheek to say goodnight. Scratch that, he _knew_ he’d never been on that many dates with the same person if there wasn’t a bed, or a hot tube (not anymore, let’s not think about it), or a convenient closet at the end of it.

“Okay, so I’m just going to ask,” Tony exploded finally. The doors opened and Steve slid out into the entryway before Tony could trap him in the more easily managed space. Tony followed him. “Am I going to have to propose to get you into bed? Because I can do that.”

Steve’s eyes went wide and he stared at Tony with his mouth open. A flush washed across his cheeks. “N-no!”

“Good,” Tony sighed with relief, because he was shocked to find that he was actually one hundred percent willing to drop to one knee for a _will you a marry me so we can have sex?_ proposal, and if Steve said yes, he _would_ marry him, and that could get awkward. Before Steve could say anything else, Tony took the three strides separating them and grabbed Steve by the lapels of his sleek gray jacket. He yanked Steve down and rose up to meet him. It was strange to be so much shorter than someone he was kissing, but it was kind of amazing too, leaning his weight into Steve’s chest and trusting that Steve was going to hold him up. Steve made a noise against his mouth, and Tony took the opening to drive his tongue between Steve’s teeth. He tasted like coffee and the mint ice cream he had for dessert, cool, and slick, and _perfect_ , and… and struggling. Warning buzzers went off in Tony’s head and he pulled away, dropping back to his heels with a little jolt.

Shaking, Steve stood stiffly in his grasp, arms held out rigidly to either side like he couldn’t trust himself to put his hands on Tony. His eyes were wide, his face was flushed, and he looked _something_ that Tony couldn’t quite figure out.

“Too fast?”

“Oh… oh, _God_ Tony, this is- I can’t.” He shook his head in tiny jerks. “I can’t have sex with you. _Jesus_.” He took a step back and looked even more lost when Tony didn’t let go of his jacket.

Tony frowned. “Why? If it’s the too fast thing, that’s okay. We can keep doing the Friday date night-“

“- _Date?”_

“-And then maybe graduate to cuddling on the couch. Why are we objecting to the date word?” Tony’s stomach melted in his gut, but his hands stayed tight on Steve’s jacket. If he let Steve go, the man would bolt and Tony would never figure this out. Sure, Steve could overpower him if he wanted, but Steve wouldn’t want, Steve would never use his strength that way.

“I am so sorry,” Steve said, breath coming in thin pants, eyes still wide. “I didn’t – I didn’t realize I was. I didn’t mean to make you _think_ …”

Tony let go like he’d been scalded and took two hasty steps backwards. “Explain this to me in small words,” he requested slowly, but even he wasn’t that stupid. How had he misinterpreted this? Sure, he didn’t go for guys often, but _enough_ , enough to realize when someone was interested in him – Tony sucked at basically every aspect of human relationships except that one, that predatory instinct that told him when someone might reciprocate his interest. Steve said nothing, so Tony tried, “You’re not into guys?”

“No. I mean, yes, I am, but-”

“But you’re not interested in me,” Tony concluded.

Steve buried his face in his palms and made a quiet noise against his teeth that took Tony only two seconds to realize was screaming. He was getting such crazily mixed signals that he didn’t have the slightest idea of which way to jump.

“Is this some kind of internalized homophobia thing?” he asked, because his mouth ran off without him any time he was unsure of what his feet should be doing. It was a defense mechanism, a smoke screen to give his brain time to analyze the situation and come up with a solution. “Like one of those _I hate myself for wanting you and I hate you for making me want you_ type of things?”

“What? No! Absolutely not! I couldn’t ever hate you for anything!”

And that sounded a whole lot like a declaration of – well, not-hatred at least. Which combined with all the _dating_ – and it totally was dating: it was dinners, and movies, and Tony walking around art galleries, and Steve sitting on his couch in the lab while Tony worked. It was bickering over who was paying the bill, and fighting over stupid things, and remembering that Steve liked sweet things and Steve remembering that Tony really didn’t. They talked about themselves, and defended each other when the other was being self-deprecating, and even talked about childhoods, and future plans, and dream vacations for fuck’s sake. Tony scanned through all of that very carefully and came to the same conclusion he’d been coming to regularly for the last three months, and suspected for six months before that – Steve Rogers liked him. They were dating. Why sex was not okay in that scenario, he couldn’t fathom.

“So if we’re not dating… what have we been doing for the last three months?” Tony asked when he failed to come up with another answer. He wanted to just run and put the workshop doors between them and quietly pretend the last three months hadn’t happened. But this was _Steve_.

“I just wanted to get to know you. I like you, Tony, and I wanted to know more about you. I hated that we only see each other when something is blowing up or killing people, and I just wanted to know what you were like under the suit.”

“…And how exactly is that not dating?”

“It’s not,” Steve fumbled, “I didn’t mean… I can’t sleep with you, I really just-“

“Why?” Tony asked, and wasn’t that the million dollar question? Tony would blurt out that he wasn’t carrying anything communicable that he knew about, but he couldn’t imagine Steve was worried about STDs when he was essentially impervious to illness. Tony broke into his file as soon as heard Steve was awake. Between the original experiment and SHIELD’s testing, Steve’s blood had been exposed to just about every disease that could be stored in a biohazard petri dish, and nothing took.

“Tony… you don’t want to… you really don’t want me to say. Can’t we call this a misunderstanding and go back to just being friends?” Steve pleaded.

“I didn’t realize we were just being friends in the first place, so I’m not sure exactly what you want from me,” Tony admitted. He also wasn’t sure how his voice was so even, and maybe Steve wasn’t either, because he looked absolutely wrecked the conversation. “I don’t understand how you can date me, but sex is off the table, and it’s not a marriage thing, and it’s not a secret gay-hate thing, so what the hell? Is it because I have a reputation for sleeping around? That’s true, the reputation, but I haven’t – not for, not since before Pepper, and it’s not like I’d be stupid enough to cheat on _Captain Fucking America-_ ”

“-Can you not say ‘fucking’ like it’s my middle name-?”

“And I actually _haven’t_ cheated on you, which I guess wouldn’t have been cheating since apparently we aren’t dating, but _I_ didn’t know that, so I’ve been – Jesus, listen to this, I’ve been _faithful_ this whole freaking time, so you’re going to have to explain exactly what-“

“Because I slept with your father!” Steve snapped.

Tony’s heart stuttered and he actually had to check down his shirt to make sure the reactor was still working, and, yep, still glowing – so it wasn’t his heart, it was just the sound of Steve’s voice rattling around in his chest. Steve, white like fog in a snowstorm, clapped a hand over his mouth and took an unsteady step away from Tony.

“I admit,” Tony said slowly, “I was not expecting that.”

“I’m sorry,” Steve repeated again, his voice so much smaller than someone as big as Steve should be able to manage. “I was just trying to get to know you, because, because-” Steve shuddered and crossed his arms over his chest like was cold. “Because you’re his _son_ , and I didn’t understand why… how… what the Howard I knew could have done to make you hate him so much.”

“Yeeeeah….” Tony said, drawing the word out until his brain could reboot. “This is not a conversation we’re having.” He spun on his heel to go, but Steve was there before he even got his foot off the tile.

Steve grabbed his arm and held him in place. He didn’t try to turn him around or touch him other than the three fingers curled around his wrist. “I wanted to get to know you because of him,” he said quietly, “But he’s not the reason I spend more time in your workshop than my apartment. I do like you, Tony, and I want us to be friends. You’re really all I have in this time, and that has nothing to do with Howard at all. I never wanted you to know because it would make things…weird. And I’m sorry.”

“Yeah,” Tony said automatically. He was on autopilot and didn’t know how to handle the earnest plea in Steve’s voice, or how Tony still couldn’t find it in himself to say no to him. “Yeah, of course. Super weird misunderstanding. It happens. We’re cool. But I’m going to go back to my workshop, and you should probably go. Or, you know, don’t – watch TV, whatever. Jarvis will get you what you need.”

Steve let him go, but Tony didn’t immediately move. He glanced over his shoulder and summoned up a smile from somewhere. “See you next Friday.”

He was at the stairwell door before Steve had a chance to respond. He made it all the way back to the workshop before it hit him that he’d been competing with Howard again, and somehow managed to lose to his ghost. Just one more thing he hadn’t lived up to.

“Typical,” Tony muttered.

He recovered his protective clothing and his arc welder, and started putting all those things that he loved about Steve Rogers into a little box that he could bury along with all the rest of Howard’s things he’d never been allowed to touch.

 

 


End file.
